Livin' On the Edge
by fantasydancer
Summary: A one-shot prequel to The Winchester Girl. Just how did MacK get her knife? Great question! You're about to find out. (Just something I've been burning to write and finally got around to finishing. Along with the fact that this was an excuse for some fluff within the Supernatural universe.)


**_A/N: At long last, I got to do a Weechester fic within my AU universe! This story takes place before my fic _****The Winchester Girl****_. But even if you haven't read it, this will probably still make sense. It is a sisfic, and my OC's name is MacKenzie Winchester. (MacK for short) Do enjoy, dear readers!_**

_Oct. 2003_

"Dean that was our turn." I readjusted the flashlight under my chin so I could see the map easier.

"Son of a—" Dean swore, yanking the steering wheel. I grabbed the door with my free hand to keep from flying out of the seat.

Dad had sent us out to North Carolina to check on a haunting that turned out to be a simple salt and burn while he worked another case two states over. He said he felt certain Dean and I could take care of it, (and we did) but to call him if we ran into any trouble. I had asked him if we should call Bobby if we couldn't get him. His face had darkened, and he'd informed me that if I couldn't get him then to call Pastor Jim or even Caleb. I had been a bit dismayed. The last time I'd seen Bobby I was thirteen. My brothers and I were staying with him while Dad worked a case. (As usual.) Dad and Bobby had gotten into some kind of huge argument. Dad hauled us away, and we were told we were never coming back there. I remembered I'd been practically heartbroken. I'd spent more time at Bobby's as a child, or with Dean and Sam, than I ever had with Dad.

Now that Sam was gone it was rare that I _ever_ even saw Dad unless he was handing out a new job for us to handle. And he wasn't the same anyways. I remembered the night Sam left us for Stanford. Dad had stormed out and didn't return until about four in the morning, drunk as a fish. I was asleep, and Dean must have fallen out in the other bed.

_"Dad?"_ I asked, seeing a figure stumbling over to the bed.

_"Bitch."_ He growled. _"Get up!"_ I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

_"Dad, you're drunk."_ I rubbed my eyes and sighed.

The next thing I felt was his hands wrapping around my neck. I gasped for breath, as Dad screamed at me. But Dean was up in seconds, pulling Dad off of me. I remembered shouting and some things shattering against the wall, but I couldn't move from the bed. I could already feel bruises rising on my skin. Eventually Dad stormed out, his truck keys in hand.

Moments later, Dean was sitting next to me. He reached over to the bedside table and flipped the light on. He ran his hands over my neck carefully, and I winced.

_"Shhh,"_ He soothed. _"I gotcha. You're gonna be alright now."_ I felt him brush a few tears off my cheeks. _"Hey, no need for those. We're gonna be alright. Shhh…"_ he wrapped his arms around me. It was the second time that night he'd held me while I cried. The first had been after Sammy left and Dad had stormed out the first time. I eventually cried myself to sleep while Dean was still carding his hands through my hair.

I shuddered, remembering that day. Dad had apologized when he returned, sober, the next afternoon. I knew he hadn't really meant to hurt me, and I still loved him, but it took me a while to trust him again. I reached over to turn the radio up and take my mind off of Dad. _Music heals the soul_, I thought.

As "It's My Life" started blasting over the speakers, I started singing to myself.

Dean grinned at me. "Never could resist some Bon Jovi, could you?"

I stuck my tongue out and upped the volume of my singing. By the time the sun was starting to rise, we were entering Sevierville, Tennessee. The place seemed more like a tourist attraction than anything else. Billboards advertising Tanger Outlets and Ripley's Aquarium lined the roads. We drove past a large construction site where a new resort was being built. I whistled. "That thing is gonna be big enough house the entire cast and crew of _The Lord of the Rings_."

Dean laughed, shaking his head at my weird fascination with short people with toe hair, shiny rings, and sexy elves. "Yeah, but I was thinking more along the lines of _Tyrannosaurus_."

"Dude," I protested. "That place could hold _Jurrassic Park_'s entire exhibit five times over. And don't you be making fun of my weird obsessions. I'm not the one hiding porn mags in the trunk."

Dean conceded with a laugh. I grinned. I looked back at the map, yawning. Hey, Dean, why don't we go ahead and get checked in somewhere? We can get some shut-eye, and maybe go out tonight. Dad's not expecting us for a few days."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Good idea. Keep an eye out for somewhere cheap. Dad said to watch our spending for a while. I might play some pool and poker tonight. Try to get a little extra for food and whatnot."

I nodded. "I might play a little poker."

Dean gave me a look. "Last time I let you play 'a little poker' I ended up having to take some guy out back because he kept trying to stick his hand down your shirt."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes. And I was trying to pickpocket him. Jeez, Dean. Just cause some dude touches my boob doesn't mean I'm gonna get pregnant. And it keeps food in our mouths, doesn't it?"

Dean shook his head. "Please do _not_ talk like that. I'm not letting anyone near you. _Ever_."

I stuck my tongue out, and then grinned. "Fine. But can I still come watch you play?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't see why not. Just stay close, and don't accept any free drinks."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not that stupid, Dean."

"So sure about that, geek?" He grinned at me and I punched his arm.

"Dork."

By that evening, we had checked into a hotel room, gotten a good eight hours of sleep, showered, and dressed. Now I lay on the bed, flipping through TV channels. Dean was still in the bathroom "freshening up." I gasped as I recognized the character's voices and immediately straightened to watch. Dean poked his head out. "What's wrong?"

I grinned. "Scooby's on!" I cried.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh gosh, tell me you're joking."

I stuck my tongue out and went back to watching my show. I frowned. Why was this so familiar? I'd seen this episode a dozen times, at least. But something else was familiar. I looked around the room. I had barely glanced at it earlier. My eyes had been practically glued shut with exhaustion. Now that I thought about it though, this place was pretty familiar. Had we stayed here before? I wracked my brain for any memories of Sevierville, Tennessee.

_Oct. 1995_

Dad was leaving again. Another job came up, he said.

Dean was sixteen, and Dad said we wouldn't be here long, so he didn't take us to Bobby's this time. I was eight, and Sammy was twelve.

My brothers and I were walking home from the elementary school where Dean picked Sam and me up every day. It was sunny and surprisingly warm for mid-October. I kept running into things because I kept trying to look up at the different colored leaves on the trees. Eventually Dean just picked me and put me on his shoulders. It saved me from getting more bruises, at least.

I protested loudly when we finally arrived back to the motel room. It was too pretty to be inside, I complained to Dean. He looked like he agreed, but he shook his head and told me to get started on my homework. I huffed in complete childish indignity, claimed I didn't have any because I was only in second grade and stomped off towards the couch to watch Scooby-Doo. Dean rolled his eyes at me, but sat down at the table with Sam to do his own homework.

It had been growing late, almost six. Dean was cleaning the rifles and Sam had come to watch cartoons with me. He insisted we watch Looney Toons, but I was insisting we watch Scooby-Doo.

"You've got to watch that all afternoon, Kenzie. It's my turn." He whined, snatching the remote out of my hands.

"Sammy!" I cried. "Give it back. _De-an_." I whined. "Make Sammy give back Scooby!"

Dean looked up and rolled his eyes. "Sam let her watch Scooby-Doo."

Sam gave him a disbelieving look. "But Dean she's got to watch it all afternoon!"

Dean put down the gun, giving him a stern look. "Just give her the damn remote, Sammy. You know how she is when she doesn't get her way."

It was true. I had a nice temper. When I was younger I liked to throw tantrums. As I got older, I liked to throw things.

Sam huffed and slung the remote at me. I snatched it up and gave Sam a smug look before changing it back to the Scooby Doo marathon.

_Oct. 2003_

"You ready, Velma?" Dean asked, cuffing my foot and breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." I turned the TV off then grabbed my coat and made to join him in the Impala.

"I'm starved." Dean commented as we pulled into the small bar and diner.

I grinned. "Yeah. Me too." I looked out the window at the little establishment. It looked fairly new. Built next to an old railway, the place could have been the picture of perfect harmony. I sighed, resigning myself to a, hopefully, peaceful night.

_Oct. 1995_

"Stay in the car alright, Kenzie?" Dean instructed.

I rolled my eyes and huffed. "Alright. I still don't see why I can't come see the trains too though!"

Dean grinned and reached back to ruffle my hair. I swatted his hand away. "Aw, come on, Scout, don't be that way. You know why you can't."

"That's not even a good reason, Dean!" I whined.

He gave me a sympathetic smile and shrug. "Sorry, but rule are rules."

"But why can't girls watch?"

"Because it's dangerous, Kenz. Dad would beat our asses if you got hurt."

"Dean." Sam warned.

"But Sam gets to go." It was my last ditch effort.

Sam let an indignant, "Hey!"

Dean snickered. "Tell ya what, Kenzie, stay in the car and be good until we get back and I'll take you to that big bookstore tomorrow, deal?"

I thought about it. "Alright, deal." I spit on my hand. "Shake on it."

Dean spit on his hand and we shook. He smiled one last time before shouldering his backpack. "We'll be back in less than an hour. Keep the windows and doors locked. Don't play too loud, okay?"

"I'll be fine, Dean."

After they'd left, I flopped down in the backseat, staring at the ceiling. It was pitch black outside and the only source of light came from a nearby street lamp. _It stinks being the little sister_, I thought dolefully.

I grabbed the backpack that held mine and Sam's toys (well, mostly mine. Sam had decided he was almost too old to play anymore) and rummaged in it until I pulled out the sack of army men and my princess Barbie doll.

I played for a while. At least an hour passed before my eyes started to grow heavy. It had to be nearly one-thirty, I thought. At some point, I dozed off, the sniper still clutched in my hands.

Then I heard it. A faint whistle. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. It was beginning to get quite chilly in the car and I shivered, crossing my arms, and wishing I had a thicker jacket, maybe a leather one, like Dad's. It had definitely been longer than an hour, and I saw neither hide nor hair of either brother. I huffed. Forget the books, I thought. I was more than ready to return to the hotel room and sleep under some nice warm blankets.

I grabbed the flashlight from my backpack and unlocked the door. Climbing out, I had a fleeting moment of uncertainty. Dean had said to wait in the car. He would be pissed when he found out I hadn't listened. As I silently walked along the tracks, looking for my brothers, I had the urge to turn back. What if Dean told Dad I hadn't listened? Then I brushed that thought aside. Dean may have told me that Dad had given him and Sam permission to be out after dark, but I knew better. Dad would never have allowed this, and especially not on a school night.

That being said, the only wrath I might exact would be my brothers and they wouldn't stay scary for long. Not once I pulled the teary puppy eyes and muttered a heartfelt _"I'm sorry, big brother."_ Then they would both melt like butter.

_Oct. 2003_

I toyed with the end of my necklace, smiling as I watched Dean rake in a hundred bucks at the poker table. I wasn't much of one for bars. They smelled like sweat, vodka, smoke, motor oil, and desperation. All of it together was enough to make me sick. But I always came along because it sure as hell beat staying in the motel room and watching paper-view. At least here I could get a front row seat to some action.

From my position at the end of the bar counter, I could make out everything in the room. I noticed a couple in the back corner table, making out like it was the end of the world. _Get a room_, I thought, rolling my eyes. Various men were crowded around the other end of the bar to see the game that was on. In the other corner, sat a gray-haired old man, probably in his late fifties. He was despondently tossing back another shot before gesturing to the waitress to bring him another. I squinted to see the pendant on his jacket. He was a Vietnam War veteran, just as I'd thought. I thought about going to speak to him. I'd always gotten on good with old war veterans. There was something about them I understood. The duty, the will, the sacrifice.

Before I could stand though, someone sat down beside me. I stiffened slightly, but it wasn't until he spoke that I even acknowledged him.

"He's pretty good." I looked where the man was gesturing to Dean.

I looked at him, smiling proudly. "That's my big brother."

He pulled an impressed look, and returned his attention to the game. I gave him a once over. He was about Sam's age of twenty, which didn't explain why he was at a bar at ten p.m. on a Thursday night in October. But who was I to talk? I hadn't even been back in school in two weeks. His hair was blond, and curled wildly over his head. The faintest hint of stubble lined his jaw. I suppose most girls would have seen him as handsome, but I had never cared much for dating. It probably had to do with the fact that I was raised by three men, so I knew men's disgusting habits too well for my liking. There was also the fact that because I was raised by three men, if a guy so much as looked at me in a meaningful way then they probably wouldn't live to see the next day.

"So," he began, startling me out of my thoughts, "You passing through?"

I shrugged. "It that obvious?"

He smiled. "You don't really have the accent."

That was true. I was pretty sure I didn't sound like I was from New York or anything, but I also just didn't have a country accent like most people around here.

"True." I smirked.

There was a comfortable silence between us for a few minutes. Then I felt him slide an arm over my shoulder and lean closer to whisper in my ear. I did my best to relax and act natural. I had a problem with tensing whenever somebody got too close for comfort. But I had had a lot of practice acting over the years, so I held still and pretended to be interested. His lips brushed my ear, and though I inwardly repelled it, I saw the opportunity to get a buck or two out of this guy.

"You and me could find somewhere a little quieter. You know, if your _brother_ won't mind."

I glanced at Dean who was caught up in his game. I grinned at the dude. Idiot. He thought I was lying about Dean being my brother. "Oh, I'm sure he won't, sweetie. Let me just, ah, freshen up first." I smiled sweetly at him, grabbing the shoulder bag I kept that basically only held a pistol, some bullets, and my knife.

I made my way to the restroom, slipping the dude's wallet in my pocket before he could see. I chuckled quietly to myself as I counted his cash and slipped it into my bag. Make a move on me again, I thought with a smirk. I smoothed my hair to make it seem like I'd really 'freshened up.'

I slipped back into the bar room to find the man still waiting at the bar. His eyes lit up when they landed on me. I smiled at him, leaning into his side, slipping his wallet back in place. Then I pouted slightly, "I have to go soon. My parents will start to worry." Then I smiled again, leaning forward so that our noses were practically touching. "But I'll be back tomorrow, if you want to, you know." I gave him a seductive grin and bit my lip.

He grinned widely. "Eight o'clock?"

I smiled. "Sounds great."

I leaned in as though to give him a kiss before pausing and then smiling seductively again. I turned on my heel, and made my way towards the door, brushing by Dean. "Enterprise." I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.

He acted as though he didn't hear, but his finger tapped against his cards, a signal that he'd gotten the message. 'Enterprise' was our code word for 'I'm heading to the car. All's fine, but hurry.' It was originally Dean's idea since he'd had an addiction to Star Trek at one point.

I twirled the keys I'd snatched out of Dean's pocket around my finger as I made my way back to the car, singing lowly, "We're half way there. Whooo. Livin' on a prayer. Take my hand and we'll make it I swear."

The sound of a train whistle cut me off. I looked out across the gravel parking lot. Old train lines were visible a ways off. An old railway car stood rusting on one. I squinted at it. Something seemed awfully familiar about this place, I thought again. I pulled my knife out of my bag, just to feel its comforting weight in my hand until I could locate the Impala. Then I sucked a deep breath as an old memory rose. When I let it out, despite the warm autumn air, it turned white.

A sharp pain exploded in the back of my head, and I fell forward, unconscious.

_Oct. 1995_

As I walked, I became even chillier than before. Mist curled from my mouth when I breathed. I could hear another whistle, closer this time. Then came the sound of a muffled grunt. "Dean." I called softly. I rounded the corner of a dormant car, and looked out at the active rail lines. Two dark shapes lay huddled on the track. When I cautiously shined my light at them the larger one renewed its struggle. I moved closer until I could make out the faces of the shapes. I gasped, and then squealed.

It was both of my brothers. They were wrapped in canvas feed sacks, so that only their heads were still visible. Sam seemed to be unconscious. A trail of blood ran along his hairline, matting his sandy bangs to his forehead. Ropes encased their bodies, preventing them from breaking free. I hurried to their side, removing the band of cloth from Dean's mouth that was being used as a gag.

"What happened? What are you doing?" I practically screamed. "You're so stupid! You could get killed playing like this!"

"Yeah, yeah, save your scolding for later." I had the sudden urge to turn and leave them both to rot, but the ground suddenly shook beneath us. I looked up, the faint glimmer of headlights coming in to view from far down the track. I gasped. "Dean, Dean! Get up, get up!"

He cursed and began struggling more violently. The sacks were nailed to the boards. Cursing again he said, his voice a pitch higher than normal, "I'm stuck!" He cried. "My bag! It's somewhere next to that old car! There's a knife in it! Get it, Kenzie. Go!"

My feet flew back towards the old car. There was the bag just beside the open door. I slid down to my knees, skinning them in the process. But I barely gave it any thought as I dug desperately though the bag until I found the long slender silver blade. The train was closer now, and I ran with all my might back to where my brothers lay.

"Cut Sam free first and drag him out of the way!" Dean ordered. His tone was so harsh, but later I was thankful for it, otherwise I might have dropped the knife from my trembling fingers.

I fumbled with the sack. It thankfully cut easily, and so did the rope as I slit it down the side, careful not to cut my brother. Having split the sack open, I grabbed under Sam's arms, pulling with all my might. He was heavy, but I finally managed to pull him free of the tracks. Rushing back to Dean's side, I fumbled with the blade, trying to get the cloth to cut. The rope on Dean was thicker than Sam's had been and I was shaking so badly that I could barely hold the knife steady. Glancing up, I realized the train was almost on us. Dean noticed too. "Go, Kenzie, now!" he barked, but I couldn't. I sawed and hacked. I think I may have nicked his skin a few times, but I didn't care. I couldn't lose my brother. The knife split the last cord on the upper ropes. My brother's arms were now free. And the train was mere seconds from hitting us. I lost my nerve. I screamed, ducking and bracing for the impact.

But all I felt was the sensation of rolling, and something crushing me under its weight, and then hearing a pained grunt as I landed with a loud "OOMPH!" on top of my brother. I felt his arms around me, and I felt and heard the wind whistling by as the train sped past us. The rumbling slowed, and finally stopped all together. Neither of us seemed inclined to budge. I realized that my face was still buried in Dean's jacket. I was shaking, tears of relief stinging my eyes.

Dean was speaking, "We gotta go. Come on, Kenzie. I gotta make sure Sam's alright."

That got me moving. I slipped off of him, and slowly we both got to our feet. My knees were stinging from where I'd skinned them. It was almost certain I would have to dig some gravel out. My fist was still closed tight over the silver knife that I had used to break my brothers free. I looked at it and its sharp little blade. There was something fascinating about it. Glancing up at Dean, I slipped the knife into my deep jacket pocket. I'd hide it in my backpack at first possible chance. Probably beneath _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_. Dean would never think to look there.

Dean crouched over Sam, checking his pulse and then looking at his head. He cursed. "Son of a bitch. He's gonna need stitches, and I'm not sure I can handle a head wound." He glanced back at me where I was still too stunned to move properly. "Kenzie." I flinched, and he softened his tone. "Come on. Help me get him to the car. Go open the door for me, alright? Can you do that?"

I nodded and forced my feet to move. I grabbed Dean's bag where he'd left it by the railcar, shivering as I did so. It was so cold right there. There was a rustling sound inside the car, and I glanced up into the dark depths of the vehicle, but didn't see anything. Probably a rat or a bird, I thought, hurrying back to the Impala. I shoved everything off the seat and into the floor board to make room for Sam. Dean came rushing up, my middle sibling slung over his shoulder. He grunted under the weight as he gently and awkwardly lowered Sam into the car.

"Climb up front, Kenzie. We gotta get Sammy to the hospital."

I did so, Dean climbing in the driver's seat beside me. He rushed away from the old railroad shack and pulled back onto the main interstate. It was then that I finally found my voice and questions started pouring out, "Dean, what happened? Why were you nailed in a sack to the railway? Is Sammy gonna be alright? What happened to his head? Are you mad at me for not listening to you?"

He glanced at me sharply, a look of surprise on his face. "No, Kenzie. No, not at all, sweetheart. You saved mine and Sam's life. That's all that matters. I'm proud of you."

Relief flooded through me, and my chest swelled. "But what happened?" I asked again.

Dean sighed, swerving to avoid hitting another car. "Asshole." He muttered. Then louder, "Don't worry about it. It was just—" He faltered. "Just a prank, Kenzie."

I didn't believe him for one second, but I was too happy in knowing that Dean was proud of me to continue and possibly cause him to really get angry. Besides, Sam picked that moment to groan and let out a whiney sounding, "Dean?"

Dean shot a look back at him. "You doing okay, little brother?"

Sam nodded, and then winced. "My head hurts like a mother."

I furrowed my brow. "Why a mother, Sam?" I asked, twisting in my seat to see him better. He was struggling to sit up, and now he shot a wild apologetic glance to Dean.

My oldest brother sighed. "Kenzie, please do us a favor. Never mention this night. Never mention anything 'hurts like a mother' around Dad, and please, _please_ do not mention the fact that I let you touch a knife. Speaking of which, what happened to it?"

I sighed unhappily and pulled it from my pocket. "Here," I mumbled gloomily.

Dean shook his head. "Keep it. When we get back to the hotel room I'll give you a sheath for it."

I grinned happily and he returned it with a faint distracted smile.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, his words slurring just a bit.

Dean sighed. "The hospital. I think you need some stitches. I've got your head bandaged for now, but take it easy till we get there, alright? We gotta make sure you don't have a concussion."

Sam sighed heavily. "We're so screwed."

Dean laughed ruefully. I wondered what he found funny about the fact that Dad was going to—what was that phrase my brothers liked to use?—rip us a new one. Whatever that meant.

"That we are, my brother. That we are."

_Oct. 2003_

My head ached, to say the least. My vision was blurry, but when it did clear enough to see it didn't matter. The night was pitch black around me. A place on the back of my head throbbed. I tried to swallow the dryness from my throat, but then I realized that my mouth was gagged. I moved my arms and found them pinned to my side. I was in a sack. Ropes had been wrapped around me from toe to neck, and the sack had been nailed to the wood planks beneath me. My head and legs were resting on some sort of metal railing.

My eyes widened as the previous events returned to me. The realization I'd had just as I had been knocked out. I struggled uselessly against the restraints. My bag was gone. So was my knife. I must have dropped it when the ghost got me.

I cursed inwardly. Then a whistle sounded in the distance, and I froze. _Friggin' ghosts!_ I thought. I gave a guttural scream for help, little good it did. A pinpoint of light to my right was growing brighter and brighter with every passing second. The tracks rumbled faintly under my body.

"Kenzie!" I heard someone scream.

"Dean!" I cried, though it came out as more of a, "Mmph!"

The light was moving closer. I struggled as hard as I could, screaming as best I could. Then I felt someone beside me. They were cutting the ropes, freeing my arms and then pulling me free of the tracks just in time. I was frozen in my savior's arms, my heart and head pounding in unison, as the train rushed by us. My limbs felt sore and stiff. My eyes were frozen wide open, and I could still see the light burning my irises.

Suddenly, I pushed myself upward. I had a bone to pick with this thing. Nobody screwed a Winchester, especially not twice, and lived to tell the tale. Well, actually, this was a ghost so it was already dead, but…you know what, never mind.

Dean stood as well. My silver knife was clutched tight in his hand.

"It's that same ghost, isn't it?" I asked.

"Yeah. I think so."

I drew a deep breath, clenching my fists. "What did you and Sam find on it that time?"

Dean shook his head. "Jimmy Via. He got drunk one night, got into a fight, and some of the guys threw a sack over him and left him to die on the railway when the night train passed. We couldn't ever find the body. Rumor was the guys who did it sobered up afterwards and hid the body quick. It's probably somewhere around here, but…" He shrugged. "He's been killing someone the same way on the same night once a year. I thought Dad would have taken care of it afterwards, but he must have forgotten."

I tried to think. I closed my eyes, remembering the night eight years ago. I thought about the lights in the abandoned railway car that I'd seen when I'd gone to pick up Dean's bag. I gasped, and my eyes flew open. "Dean, get the salt. I think I know where the body might be."

It had to be simple from there out, didn't it?

Please. I am a Winchester, aren't I? When my life gets simple, call me.

Dean grabbed the salt and lighter fluid, while I grabbed a couple iron bars. Ghosts were crazy, and I wasn't entirely certain what to expect. I had been told several times in my life that I always hoped for the best, but prepared for the worst. At least I was prepared.

As we came neared the old car, the temperature dropped at least twenty degrees. I let out a low breath, seeing it fog in the air. I looked at Dean, clutching my bar tighter. I pulled myself up into the car, and was instantly met with the sight of the ghost. He sat, blankly staring back at me, on a stack of old sacks. The whole car was filled with these empty stacks. Coils of rope were pushed against one side of the wall. At one time, this car had probably been used to transport empty chicken feed sacks to a factory to be filled. I studied the ghost who seemed to not have noticed us. He was dressed typical late-eighteen hundreds style, in denim overalls, and a long-sleeved, wool shirt. His face and hair were gray and scruffy. He looked at me suddenly and grinned, his mouth full of yellowed teeth.

And then he was flying at me, screaming in an earsplitting pitch. I slung my bar out in front of me, closing my eyes and curling backwards instinctively as I did so. I felt a cool rush of air and looked up. Jimmy was nowhere in sight which meant he had dissolved.

Dean moved closer to me, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving me a shove toward the sacks. "Get to looking." He said lowly.

I forced my legs to move, the hatred for this creature who had tried to kill my family coursing through my veins. As we searched through the piles of sacks, a thought struck me. Maybe that was how Dad felt. The hatred for whatever killed my brothers' mom, and maybe my mom, driving him to do what he did. I didn't want to end up like my dad. I loved him, but I didn't want to be like him.

"Kenzie." Dean whispered, pulling me from my thoughts.

I turned to him to see the pile of sacks he'd shifted away, revealing a husky, dried corpse. I gagged a bit, and pressed the back of my hand to my mouth. "Does it ever get so normal to see a dead body that it doesn't make you want to lose your dinner?" I muttered as he opened the container of salt.

Dean scoffed. "I hope so." He paused. "Actually, never mind. I take it back. Dead bodies better _never_ become that much of a norm."

I had a feeling he was going to prove wrong, what with our line of work, but I didn't call him out. I glanced up, letting out a huff as I waited for him to finish up, only to be met with the sight of a plank swinging towards my head. I yelped and ducked, just in time. I swung out at Jimmy's ghost with my iron bar, but he had disappeared. I glanced back to Dean, who had paused to look at me. "You alright?" He asked.

I nodded, licking my lips. "Yeah. Hurry up."

But as soon as he turned to unscrew the container of lighter fluid it went flying from his hands. "What the—?"

He was cut off when Jimmy's ghost grabbed him by the neck and shoved him against the wall with enough force to rattle the entire car. "Dean!" I screamed, my legs tensing to rush at him, but the next instant I was slung through the car and out the door to land hard on the gravel outside. It was enough to force the air from my lungs, and for a long moment I lay still, gasping for breath. I could hear Jimmy talking from the car, "They killed me, see? So someone's gotta pay." The last word was followed by a loud thud and a groan of pain from my brother.

I rolled to my feet, ignoring the pain, and rushing into the car again, snatching up the half empty container of lighter fluid. I soaked the corpse as best I could, at all times keeping one eye on Dean where the ghost was focused on getting a sack over him. He seemed not to notice me, so I grabbed my lighter and screamed, "Hey, you son of a bitch!" The ghost looked up with a confused snarl, and I flicked the cap. "This is for my brothers." I threw it, igniting the body and causing the ghost to go up in flames with a scream of agony.

I ran to Dean, who was thankfully moaning, and helped him to his feet. "Dean, we gotta go!" I urged, glancing back at the rapidly burning sacks.

Somehow I managed to drag him out. Halfway to the car he found his feet again and we increased our pace. We made it back to the now abandoned parking lot. As Dean climbed in the Impala, I chanced a glance back. Smoke was curling into the night sky, which was being lit by the glow of the fire.

I heard Dean bark at me to get in, and I did so hurriedly, especially when I heard sirens blaring from somewhere nearby. Dean gassed it. The last thing we wanted was to be anywhere near here when the authorities showed up. We stopped at our motel only long enough to grab our duffels before we again hit the highway. Miles down the road, with the sun rising behind us, I realized that one of us should probably call Dad and tell him we would be meeting him earlier than expected. I told Dean, and he cringed. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, "Yeah, how about you get on that?"

"Me?" I cried. "No way, man! I'm _not_ getting my ass chewed just because you were stupid enough to forget to call him and let him know earlier."

Dean sighed heavily. We shared a look. "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" We cried in unison, shaking our fists. I had paper. He had rock.

"Damn it." Dean cursed. "Best two out of three?"

I shoved the cell phone at him. "Call him."

Dean sighed again, but took the phone and did as I'd ordered. I heard it rang, and then Dad's sleepy voice came through, "Kenzie?"

"Hey, Dad, it's Dean."

"Dean, I thought you guys were stopping for the night."

How the hell does Dad always seem to know what we're doing, and where we are? He was uncanny like that.

"Uh, yeah," My brother was saying. "About that." He cleared his throat.

"Yes?"

I cringed. "Put him on speaker." I muttered lowly. Dean did so, and I said in my sweetest voice, "Hey, Daddy, how are you?"

I heard Dad groan as though he were climbing out of bed. "What did you two do this time?"

Dean and I shared a nervous glance before I answered meekly, "Well…I may or may not have been kidnapped by a ghost and nearly run over by a train, and we may or may not have set a railroad car on fire." I was slightly breathless by the end.

There was a pause on the other end. Then a low, "Dean Winchester."

Dean swallowed. "Yes, sir?"

"Your sister was kidnapped. And you didn't think it was a good idea to call me?" His voice was rising with every word.

I heard Dean grumble something about Dad never picking up the phone, but our father's sharp, "What was that?" stopped him cold.

"I said, I was in a hurry. I didn't have time to waste. I-I panicked, alright?"

I looked sharply at my brother. Residual fear was glinting in his eyes. Fear for me. It wasn't my fault I had gotten taken, but it still made me feel a little guilty that he'd been worried for me.

Dad sighed. I could imagine him running a hand over his face and hair like he did when he was tired. "Are you two alright?"

"Yeah, just some scrapes and bruises. Nothing that won't heal in a few days." I added.

"Wait, a train?" Dad asked suddenly. "Wasn't that the same thing that nearly got Sam and you killed a few years back, Dean?"

"Uh, yes, sir. It, um, it was the same spirit."

"I thought you told me then that you and Sam took care of the ghost." Dad's tone was a little too scary for comfort. Monsters I could take, but John Winchester scared the hell outa me.

"Well, you see," Dean started.

"Save it!" Dad cut him sharply. "You can explain later, when you both get your asses to Kentucky."

"Yes, sir." We intoned in unison.

Dad let out another long huff of air. "Are you sure you two are alright?"

"I told you, Dad, just a few—"

"Scrapes and bruises, yeah, I heard. I didn't mean like that."

I paused, considering. Finally, I answered slowly, "I-I'll be okay." I looked at my still slightly trembling hand. The adrenaline still coursed through my veins, making me a little lightheaded and dizzy, though truthfully that could have come from the head blow. The sense of satisfaction I got when taking out that ghost returned. I smiled wryly. "Yeah, Dad. I'm gonna be just fine."

_Oct. 1995_

Dad had been pissed, to say the least when he did get home to find Sam, concussion free, but stitched up. Dean had needed one or two stitches from where I accidentally cut him in trying to free him, and my knees were bandaged up.

"But Dad, some man hurt Dean and Sam. Aren't you gonna tell the police?"

Dad stopped to stare at me in shock. He gave my brother's a questioning look. Dean shook his head. Dad's face softened, and he looked back at me with a sigh. "No, sweetie, we can't tell the police. But I promise you whoever did this to your brothers are long gone. Besides," His voice hardened again and he looked back to my brothers. "If Dean and Sam had behaved and stayed in the motel room like I ordered none of you would be hurt now."

"But Dean told me to stay in the car and I didn't listen! It wasn't his fault I got hurt."

Dad looked back to Dean again. "You told me you brought her with you."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "I was trying to keep her outa trouble." He muttered. Then louder, "It's not her fault, Dad. We shouldn't a been there to begin with."

"Damn straight." Then Dad sighed again. "But if she hadn't of been there, she wouldn't have saved you." He seemed to falter and I thought his voice might have hitched. I blinked. I had never seen Dad cry before. He sat down in the armchair and ran his hands over his bowed head. I cautiously climbed up in his lap. He wrapped his arms around me and I said, soothingly, "It's okay, Daddy. Don't cry. No one's gonna hurt my brothers while I'm around."

He chuckled wryly then and hugged me to him. "I know. It's alright, baby. "

_Oct. 2003_

It was hours later. We met Dad at his hotel, gotten chewed out, (well more like Dean was, but I stayed for support) and then had gone out to eat. Dad decided we should stay another night, to let Dean and me catch up on lost sleep.

Dad had insisted on taken the couch, letting Dean and I share the double bed. Both of them were conked out like lights, snoring faintly. It was comforting to hear their breathing, slow and steady. The white light from the TV illuminated the room faintly, and the faint noise of some WWII movie could be heard even over the snores. I rolled over on my side to reach the bedside table easier. My silver knife sat there, wrapped in its leather sheath. I took it quietly and rolled over my back, quietly unsheathing it.

Looking at my reflection in the shiny surface of the blade, I smirked wryly. Maybe it wasn't so bad being the little sister after all.


End file.
